Quentin winked, grin deepening. “You know me, Mrs. Riqueti,” he said. “Trouble is my favorite thing to get into.”
She swatted him gently. “You always were a cheeky one,” she said. “I was so proud when I heard you’d been Selected. Don’t tell the others, but aside from my sons, I was always rooting for you the most.”
Quentin’s chest warmed, something unfamiliar spilling from his heart. Alda Riqueti had always been like this. He didn’t remember much of his own mother; nothing besides her strawberry-blonde hair and an alleyway covered in blood.
Knowing Alda Riqueti was the closest Quentin had ever come to knowing what it felt like to be loved by a mother.
Quentin swallowed past the lump in his throat, giving Alda a small nod. “Thank you. Truly.”
Mrs. Riqueti warmed even more at his subdued response. Her gaze shot over his shoulder, landing on the cart. Something sparkled in her expression. “And who is this?”
The cart creaked as Delaynie stepped down from the bench. Her hood had fallen back, the once-tidy braid atop her head now limp and mussed. The lengths of her auburn hair fell around her face and down her back.
He was about to introduce her when Delaynie’s hand shot out. She smiled—politely, even if it was a little forced. “LadyDelaynie Albellane. It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Riqueti.”
Alba’s eyes widened. She clasped Delaynie’s hand. “Lady? Oh, what a treat this is turning out to be. You are most welcome here, Delaynie.” She called up to her husband who waited outside their open doors, “Leandro! Tell the staff to ready rooms for our guests. And to set the table for two more. I’m sure they are anxious for a hot bath and a nice meal.”
Leandro nodded to his wife, still smiling. His gaze drifted to Quentin. “Great to see you again, Quentin. Welcome to Sacale.”
“Thank you, sir.” The merchant nodded and strode into his house, already calling for his staff. The Riqueti patriarch had always been a bit more reserved; still warm and welcoming, but not as outgoing as his wife.
Quentin heard that his stoicism set him apart in his trade. Leandro Riqueti was fair in the deals he struck, but stalwart and sure.
“How long will the two of you be staying with us?” Alba asked. She was still glancing curiously—almost mischievously—between him and Delaynie.
It was easy to see where Matheo got…everything.
“Not long,” he answered. “Just until we secure a ship. Probably no more than a day or two.”
“A ship?” Alba blinked. “A ship to where?”
Quentin hesitated as two stable hands approached. One set to work tending to their tired mule, while the other unloaded their meager belongings.
Alba, bless her, noted his pause. “Let’s go inside.” She took Delaynie’s arm. “You two look like you’ve been through the jungles and fought off a few beasts.”
Quentin nearly choked, and Delaynie paled. If Alba noticed, she said nothing, leading them up the steps and through the great iron and wood doors.
The interior of the manor was bright and resplendent, just like its owners. Tapestries from far-off lands hung from the walls, pillars of carved yellow marble gleaming in the light of the afternoon sun. A wall of windows lined the opposite end of the main floor, opening to their cliffside courtyard and the Mirrored Sea beyond. A gentle breeze brushed through the entry hall, stirring chiffon curtains.
Quentin walked to the back of the house, wandering aimlessly. He halted at the windows, staring out at the sea.
Toward their destination. Toward everything he despised about himself. Toward a place he couldn’t help but feel some strange, sick pull.
“Quentin, dear? Are you all right?”
He turned to Alba. “Yes, sorry.” He took a breath, then found Delaynie’s icy gaze. She was still shut down, still missing that spark, but at least she’d introduced herself.
Progress, he supposed.
“We’ll be looking to book a ship heading to the Kizar Islands.” The words spilled out. He didn’t want to dwell on them any more than he had for the past week.
Alba reeled. “The Kizar Islands?” she said, appalled. “Why in Qhohena’s name would you want to go there?”
“Oh, trust me,” he said, nearly growling, “Idon’t want to go there. But where Mariah asks us to go, we go.”
Alba wrung her hands with concern. “I haven’t met your queen,” she said slowly, “and I have the utmost respect for her and her position. She has my boys now, after all. But…” She swallowed. “But there are horrors in the Kizar Islands. We trade with them sometimes. And the crews who have seen those ports say the pirates who live there are more animal than human.”
“I know, Alba.” Quentin sighed. “Trust me, I know. We spent the past winter and into spring fighting them in Verith.”
